Nightmares End
by Sacredless
Summary: Tyrande confides her disturbed dream with her loved ones


**_"It was never in any one's hand to save our world. It's up to us to save ourselves..."_**

With those words in her head, the priestess awoke from rest. The words were as vivid in her mind as though she had said them herself, but she knew they were not. Her head turned over to look at the crystal hanging lazily in suspended air above it's pedestal. Its color faded. It's words spoken. Part of the crystal was already flaking off and drifting away from its root.

With a hand over her eyes, Tyrande slipped with her gown away from the bed. "Are you well, my love...?" she spoke, knowing without knowing her husband was where he would have been. Staring at the horizon, watching the skies become dim before it would be his own time to rest.

Malfurion had been shaken in a way that did not suit him, Tyrande judged. She reached our and grasped the sun-kissed shoulders on blind faith they were there before her gaze could adjust to the blinding light of a setting sun. "You are still," she said, eyes blinking. The way she put it, it could have been a reproof, a reminder or an expression of concern. But Tyrande did not mind it when her love was contemplative. His quiet was usually what gave her comfort.

"You have had the dream again...?" Malfurion asked.

Tyrande shook her head, "No. Twas a different one, my love,"

"But a nightmare nonetheless."

Tyrande was quiet as the forgiving shadows set in Val'sharah. She could feel her breath escape her, with relief the shade granted her, admiration for the beauty of the valleys and with resignation.

"Shandris told you about the other one, didn't she...?" she asked.

"She did not. I thought you had told me." he stated, with no accusation or confusion. Which made them both smile; she had told him about that one before, that much was true. Many times, in fact, when he was still lost and dreaming. When he was still in his barrow den, waiting for her call.

Where he had been listening to every word, ruminating on them, receiving them like Elune received the prayers of novices. And trusting in her. Not trusting her for her ability to fell a beast or calm a storm.

Trusting her for her ability to find any path back home.

* * *

The meeting had been called in a cold, quiet place. Not far away, the Arcan'dor was flourishing. The priestess was tired. So very tired. Long days she had forced herself to sleep with the grace of the goddess, but even then the fight with the Nightmare was wearing its toll on her. Upon the back of her hand, stirring her lavender skin reassuringly, was the hand of Shandris.

Thalyssra entered, a pinnacle of composure and purpose. Since last Tyrande had seen her, Thalyssra seemed to have much improved. Her gaunt features were becoming full once more. Even in starvation and exile, though, Tyrande had judged Thalyssra's stride to be unaffected and worthy.

"Priestess Tyrande," Thalyssra started, oversoon, "My apologies for keeping you waiting. Have you read my missives...?" Tyrande had not. Shandris had. Of course she had; on her own insistence. The war upon the Nightmare Lord demanded almost all of Tyrande's attention, though. Almost, but not all news had slipped by her.

Tyrande rose from her seat. "Oh, you may-?" But there was something about the Priestess' demeanor that made Thalyssra immediately cease that polite protest. Tyrande had come in full battle dress and she had not come for formalities. This was not Thalyssra's arena.

"Priestess-?"

"You don't need to tell me anything, 'sister'. I know what you want." Tyrande said.

"G-good!" Stunned Thalyssra said, before she could see that things were not, in fact, good. Tyrande's gaze remained rested upon Thalyssra with contemplation.

"I know who you are, Thalyssra, First Arcanist of Suramar. I had heard of you even before the Sundering. Ambition was always your call before Elune's," Tyrande said.

"Our paths have separated, first arcanist," she continued.

"Our peoples are no longer in agreement. We are no longer what we once were. Neither you, nor I. Both of us started from the same place. Yet, choices were made, setting us down diverging paths."

Shandris cast her gaze from Thalyssra to Tyrande, doubt creeping into the Ranger-General's frown.

"Not all my people's actions, my actions, have been wisdom. I see that now. From different choices, different mistakes and from those, different lessons can be taken," Tyrande's eyes rose to look upon the violet ones of Thalyssra's, frowning. Yet, it was not from scrutiny, but determination. "Those divergent paths are to become one again, Thalyssra.

"This rejoinder will not be easy. Mistakes have been made and will be made. And I, for one, will accept these struggles. I welcome an opportunity for our people to confront their disagreements, past, present and future. Too long, our peoples have been isolated. I wish that to end."

Her hand extended towards the first arcanist and she looked down upon her, "Will you help me, First Arcanist...? Will you help us make our people whole again?"

* * *

The silver harbors were radiant, rising from the sea as though a third moon had come to join the companionship of Elune and her Blue Child. The docks stretched so far from the city itself that one felt that one could embrace the whole of the city with both hands, like an old friend. Suramar, it was whole again, waning no more.

"Mistress, the troops are ready," a voice calls to her. She looks towards her right and sees a smiling face. A hood lies over her silver hair, shading her features, but the facial markings are still a sharp contrast. "Thank you, First Arcanist."

She looked back upon the city of her birth. She had never dared ask Elune for Suramar's safety. Regardless, she thanked the Mother Moon for keeping it safe all these years. She let go a breath of deep relief and when her lungs swelled, she could feel a determination and assuredness that she had not felt in Millenia.

"Mistress?" A second voice came. This one more familiar. She could make out from the corner of her eye a second purple hood and the gentle shift of arrows in their quiver. "Have you had the dream again...?" "Yes..." Tyrande stated, a smile coming upon her face. "Is it settled then? Do we go...?"

"Yes, we go. First arcanist, tell my warriors to set sail for Kalimdor. For the Seething Shore."

"Yes, mistress," Thalyssra responded. For someone whom had been in power for so long, even Thalyssra could not hide the ambition in that response. The eagerness to set sail.

"Empress..." Shandris asked, grasping Tyrande's shoulder.

A mass of oars and sails disturbed the waters behind her, sending ripples and wakes to the very dock Tyrande stood upon, setting sail for burning coasts and red-stained cities. Perhaps, the other elves would join them too.

"You are still. Empress? Minn'da...?"

* * *

"Then, it ends. I would feel a panic in my heart as I cannot turn away from the city's beauty."

"And you are... Staring...?" Malfurion asks to confirm. She sees his piercing gaze look into hers, her gaze snapping from past him back towards him. "Yes. At Suramar."

Shandris, now besides them, asks, "Is it the Emerald Nightmare still...?"

"No..." Malfurion said, a brow perked at Tyrande, but needing no confirmation from her side.

"Do not worry, mistress. You'll never be like the empress."

"My fear is not for what would have become of me..." the High Priestess interjects. Shandris' eyes shift from Malfurion's back to Tyrande, with surprise and with concern. The priestess closes her eyes, forcing them shut for her general. Her words are deliberate and they are final as well as exasperated. "There must never be a kaldorei empire again."


End file.
